How I Got Carjacked

Everybody, I guess, has a personal crime story, so here's mine. Some years ago, I was carjacked in Newark.

My encounter with the city's crime came at a time when I wasn't really paying attention.

I had just finished a Saturday night shift as a cops reporter at The Star-Ledger, and had stopped at a Dunkin' Donuts a half-block away for a cup of coffee for the hour-long ride home.

By the way, crime reporting, especially when it's the routine stuff done by telephone, seems so unreal - you're just writing down names and events that don't seem attached to anybody or anything. So it startles a bit when it comes home.

Although it was nearly 2 a.m., I was reassured by the several police cruisers parked outside the coffee shop. (Is this a cliche, or what?)

I was also starting a week's vacation, so my mind was on other things.

So reassured, and so distracted, that I didn't even bother to lock the door of my car, a beat-up squat Caddy on its last legs, for what I assumed was a three-minute stopover.

It was when I was seated back in the driver's seat, with my hand on the handle of the still-open door, that the two perpetrators ("perps" in police parlance) made their appearance.

The two men, in sweatshirts, were standing outside the driver's side door. I didn't actually see any guns, but there was at least one "pole" pushing out from underneath the sweatshirts.

They motioned me out of the car.

(When I later told the story to friends, we joked that I didn't actually see any weapons. But many people have famous last words. Nathan Hale (or see here.): "I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country." I didn't want mine to be: "Hey, that isn't really a gun.")

By instinct, I threw my keys over their heads, assuming (correctly) that they would back up to retrieve them. Then I retreated to the Dunkin' Donuts.

My reaction wasn't anger, but relief that I wasn't shot. I also noticed suddenly that there weren't any police in sight.

So relieved, and giddy, that the next thing seems completely foolish.

I always carry a bag of books with me, so that I can read on the train and at odd moments. (See an earlier post.)

My bag, sitting on the front seat, held an eclectic collection: two Bibles (one of which was borrowed from a friend), a biography of Stalin (see the same post) and a Russian-English dictionary.

So, as the stolen car was pulling away and faced with that loss, I yelled after the perpetrators: ""Can you throw the bag out of the car?"

They didn't hear me, of course, as the car sped off. I trudged back to the newspaper, called the police, called the family, and spent the overnight in a brightly-lit room giving a statement to the police. (I borrowed 20 bucks and took the train home.)

Other than two males, I could never give even the vaguest description of the thieves. I was also a little embarrassed that I had given up the car so easily, although, obviously, that was the smartest thing to do.

It goes without saying, perhaps, that the carjackers were never apprehended. But I'm thankful that God watches over me when I'm not really paying attention.

I had spent only a couple thousand for the Cadillac, so I wasn't overly attached to it. Strangely, I never noticed the makes of cars in and around Newark until mine was stolen. Only then, like someone looking for an old friend, did I notice that beat-up old Caddy's are very popular in Newark.

By the way, the car was recovered about six weeks later.

Every day, as I told the story to co-workers, I called the police impound lot, (or see here) to see it they had found the car.

At first, I called just about every day, usually after I once-again recounted the story of its theft. Soon, though, there were few co-workers and friends who had not yet heard the story. The telling of the story became less frequent, and so did the calls to the police lot.

Nearly two months later, after one last telling of the story, I made one last call to the police and - yes, they had the car.

Apparently, the carjacking was a "crime of opportunity" - the two men noticed my carelessness, and approached me. After they got the car, they apparently rode around for a while before it was discovered parked on a city street.

The car had more than a half-dozen parking tickets on its windshield before it was impounded. But, unlike many stolen cars, it had not been stripped for parts.

What I found most interesting, though, is what I found in the car: one of those bars attached to steering wheels and sold as an anti-theft device. The thieves had also repaired a slowly leaking tire on the car.

In other words, these thieves exhibited a certain "pride of ownership."

Afterward, I imagined what might be an effective television advertisement for similar anti-theft devices. An actor playing a car thief is shown in silhouette.

"When I steal a car," he intones, "I protect my new set of wheels. I always use ..."